Kolaphos
by PrincessIxi
Summary: Despite losing his men to a mutiny, there is always something Alexander has control over. AlexanderxHephaestion


**Title** Kolaphos

**Rating **NC- 17

**Warnings **Toned down sex scene

**Category **Alexander

**Paring **AlexanderxHephaestion

**Summary **Despite losing his men to a mutiny, there is always something Alexander has control over. AlexanderxHephaestion

**Author's Note **This is the mutiny at Hyphasis River ( or Beas River ) which I believe the movie gently played on. I like to be as historical as possible, because I love Alexander, but when I read Renaults _Nature of Alexander_, she states that Hephaestion wasn't even _there_. And I couldn't bring myself to change my fiction once half of it was done.

So do I actually think Alexander would have acted this way with Hephaestion? Yeah probably. We know his didn't take defeat well, and one from his own men would have stung pretty close to hime. We also know he had a nice temper on him when he wanted to show it. So what about Hephaestion then, isn't he the love of his life? Welll on one account he was more than happy to cut Hephaestion down a peg or two and humiliate him in front of the army. I'm of course talking about 'you are nothing with out me' drama. Add to the fact he's drunk, I've not much doubt he probably thought he acted in the right. And at the end of the day, he's the bloody king and can do what he wants and people pretty much turn a blind eye. Look at your own higher ups and tell me I'm not wrong.

Hepahestion is a lot harder to write about. Next to nothing is said about him, his character that is, apart from he was a shitarse fighter, good looking and was happy to be brutally honest with Alexander.

If you can't tell, I'm trying to prove to myself and you that my fiction makes sense, heh.

And don't worry, I wanted to kill myself too for having the worst ending in the history of my fanfics ever xp

Kolaphos- Greek, meaning a coup, over throw of a leadership, or a great achievement

**Disclaimer **I happily don't own _Alexander _( movie version )

* * *

There are very few times that Hephaestion has openly disagreed with his King. Him listening is another matter entirely.

This is one of those times.

The men around him are shuffling from aching foot to aching foot, Macedonian pride keeping them from toppling right over and staying face down in the mud. Zeus blessed, it's only just stopped raining. Hephaestion struggles to even remember what the sun's touch is like on his slowly paling skin, never mind what it's like to feel properly _clean_. He counts himself lucky as he's one of the few who still has his clothes intact.

Mustering some enthusiastic energy, Hephaestion raises his eyes to watch Alexander try and animatedly coax his men back into life. It one of his greatest speeches ever. However. . The men's lips are a grim line and many refuse to even look at their once beloved King. The silence yawns like a crevasse in the ground. Instead of taking this as a sign of defeat- something Alexander strongly disbelieves in along with fear- he prods his men into speaking up.

If anything, the silence grows even more awful, the yowl of the wind whipping over the river and soft patter of a starting drizzle punctuating it.

_Please admit gracefully, Alexander _Hephaestion silently begs, the rain dripping onto his eyelashes and the dried mud in his hair runs down his back. Coenus seems to think this to, for the crowd parts and lets the battle scarred Companion through.

"Sire, your men are dead on their feet," the Macedonian argues gently, waving his hand at the bedraggled lot, who are looking more and more like drowned rats than a noble army. "How much do you really know about this foreign land you wish to see? We have all heard the tales of the river being as deep as Hade's grotto, and that which waits for us on the other side is an army more frightening than the Shades themselves," Alexander opens his mouth as if to counter, but Coenus barrels bravely on. "Please see better, my King. Your men are tired from constant fighting- some have been here from day one. We are miserable from the cold and heavy looses and travelling, most have not seen their wives and children for years," drawing a shaky breath, he admits the horrible truth which is agreed by Zeus at once as lightning forks the sky. "I speak for every here and that we will go no further. Take us home."

As if the lightning is no enough, the men behind Coenus shout their approval, crying openly out of exhaustion and relief, palms towards the sky as if in prayer. The rest of the Companions and officers glance nervously at one another, not having the heart to stop the expected coup.

Staring in disbelieve at his army, Alexander bellows for some peace. Once they are back in control, Alexander calmly disbands the assembly, leaps from his podium and strides into his tent. If it had a door, it would have been slammed hard.

Fearing his King will slit his throat out of anger for his disobedient army, Hephaestion, flanked by the familiar bodies of the Companions, follows the fuming King into his tent. He is quick to duck the thrown object upon entering. It turns out to be an apple.

"Get out!" Alexander yells at them, his cloak already a puddle on the floor, and reaching for- this time a lethal looking scroll- to throw at them. The men can't really blame the red faced King, they _have _just mutinied after all, but Hephaestion likes to think that Alexander can be reasoned with at the worst of times.

"Sire, if I may-" he doesn't get any further. One of the solid gold handles of the scroll lands a heavy blow to the side of his forehead and they quickly scatter after that.

* * *

"Hephaestion? The King wishes to speak with you."

The Macedonian almost laughs at the poor page boy, wanting to tell him where he can damn well stick it. He drops the vase he's been using and rings his hair out, not at all satisfied with his hygiene at the moment. Washing in the river is hardly acceptable, and right now he'd kill for even a small pan of hot water.

The anger wheezes out of him however. Even though there is a forming bump on his head, he supposes he should be happy his King needs him after denying everyone else.

"I will be there presently," Hephaestion sighs in defeat, staring glumly down at his blood and mud smeared uniform that hasn't had the chance to dry properly in the night air. The chiton is worn through, tattered at the bottom and there is a gaping hole at the back that lets in the cold air. The leather armour that goes snuggly over top resembles something a sick dog has hacked up. It isn't like Hephaestion is vain, but years of shrugging on the same uniform over and over is starting to wear dangerously thin.

The camp is still alive though it is deep into the night, the men chattering and laughing, drinks in hand- life still goes on even if the King is sulking. Hephaestion turns at his name being called from the dark, and a man locked in another's embrace tries calling him over. "Not tonight," he smiles morosely back, and his sour aura must reach others because no one else tries to attract his attention. At Alexander's tent, Ptolemy greets him cheerfully enough, and pushes the flap to allow access. Hephaestion is slightly perturbed when the young man follows in after him.

No flying scroll welcomes him this time, instead it's Alexander, sprawled lazily on his bed, and it's not the excessive amount of harem women and men draping off him like fine silks that makes his mouth tighten in anger.

"By Dionysius! Sire, you cannot be seris-"

"Dionysius preserve, Hephaestion," Alexander corrects him loudly, drunkenly, by the gods- Hephaestion is surprised his King can string two words together coherently let alone _speak_. It's not like seeing a man off his face is rare, it's almost as common as breathing by Greek standard, but Alexander is at the stage when even the sturdiest of men would be under the table by now. And, well- Alexander never drinks. To get drunk that is. "Seeing as how my men are a bunch of cowards, I shall drown them all with this wine," the King roars, thrusting his golden cup at his lover like an accusing finger. Hephaestion watches the undiluted liquid spill with a curled lip.

"My King," Hephaestion tries yet _again_ to slap some reason into Alexander. "I know your men have greatly upset you, but this is not the time to lose all sense and act like a childish br-"

"Eromenos!" the name does its job and the breath hisses out of Hephaestion, Alexander's grey eyes are sharp over the cup rim- the cloudy haze of wine lifts for a brief moment as he mentally pins the man to the tent wall. "Do not patronise me with words I have heard all day," he says in a much softer tone, handing the cup to one of his pages.

Hephaestion recovers his vocals. "I would not have to patronise you, Sire, if you would just listen-"

"I am listening. What do you have to say then?"

"Oh. Ah. . " he'd bent much more quicker than he had been expecting. He stumbles for a second, then crosses his arms like a form of protection against all the eyes watching him. "Why have you brought me here?"

Alexander chuckles to himself, sitting up straighter. "That is not me listening, but me answering your questions, Hephaestion."

Despite himself, Hephaestion pouts in annoyance. He's _supposed_ to be drunk, not sharp as a knife. "Like you said, Sire. I would only be repeating what no doubt everyone has been saying all day. That being said, I would like to know why you have called me here as it is obviously not for another round of husbandry nagging."

The King chuckles like he's just told a great joke. Hephaestion fails to see the funny side, and raises one eyebrow.

"Come here, Hephaestion," is Alexander's answer, wiggling his index and middle finger to emphasize his point. Hephaestion looks timidly at the many other bodies in the bed, and frankly is quite happy to stay where he is. "Out," picking up the problem, Alexander swiftly shoos them away and some glance curiously, other's glare, at Hephaestion as they troop out of the tent. They are only left with a hand full of Companions and customary guards. Alexander repeats his previous command, lolling his golden head back against the pillows and peering out through foggy eyes.

"Sire, I. . " The men are _smirking _at him, and Hephaestion feels a sinking sensation in his gut- he'd seen this coming, of course he had, but he didn't count on an _audience_. He's almost one hundred percent sure that all of the army knows about their relationship. Those that don't are painfully ignorant or just don't want to know. It's not like either of them broadcast it, but the army isn't very large and you can't cut yourself shaving without everyone knowing about it in less than half an hour.

Meekly, Hephaestion finds himself perched next to his King, fully aware that Alexander's groomed appearance makes him resemble something that a cat might drag in.

"Dionysius has you, Sire," the Macedonian blurts out, but the argument feels weak as he's flattened by Alexander's burning gaze.

"Oh. This is the first time you have complained about it," the younger man chuckles, placing a hand on the back of Hephaestion's skull and firmly pushing him down.

_I only complain because your judgement is clouded because of it _he wants to say, but he's unsure if it's unbearable shame or being terrified out of his wits that locks his jaw into place. He's faced an army of barbarians, wild animals, natural disasters of all description, yet he can't seem to speak. He is older, and larger than Alexander, not to mention him being drunk would also work in his favour, but Hephaestion can't bring himself to stop Alexander either.

Though that could also stem from the fact the guards are armed to the teeth and knocking their King out might put a few holes in him.

By the gods he wishes Eros would rip his arrow out of his heart, because it feels like a sin to put his King-damn _affection_- before his pride. Pride is so important to him, along with his race- and, and it's so incredibly _obvious_ to why Alexander is doing this, Hephaestion could stab himself in the foot for playing the fool and being lured here.

"Not your hands, Hephaestion. I grow tired of your talking. So let us put that mouth of yours to better use."

As if it knows it's being talked about, Hephaestion's mouth dries and he glances pleadingly up at the blonde man. "Alexander," he goes from his birth name instead, and drops the formalities in hope it will improve his predicament. Alexander's heart clearly does not bleed.

Gripping the silken fabric that's piled around him, Hephaestion blocks out the rustle of the men stationed around the room, closes his eyes and wearing an expression like he's been force fed the worse medicine invented, opens his mouth and swallows Alexander's length.

And really it is the worst kind of thing to swallow. Going down on another man, he wouldn't call it disgusting, but it's most definitely something a_ woman_ would be subjected to and that is the one of the many things Hephaestion is not. So having any experience in the matter is lacking, and he's half tempted to bite the hard flesh just to make him cry out and at least they'd both be in the same boat he's right now riding solo in.

A hand in his hair, and Hephaestion doesn't have long to puzzle over it before he's being pulled off and blinking in the torch's bathing light, a rope of saliva running down his chin.

The kiss is the distraction, and it work beautifully because Hephaestion only remembers the intoxicating taste of undiluted wine pouring into his mouth and not being tipped over backwards. Like a pathetic turtle he squirms, and uses his elbows to prop himself up in a somewhat more dignified manner. Not that it matters, because Alexander is like his second shell, draping over him and grinning, sly as a wolf. Hephaestion wants to look around in a vain attempt to _not _see, but Alexander's eyes demand his whole attention. Something feather light brushes over his thighs and his tunic and cracked leather amour is being pushed out of the way and hitched over his hips. He knew there was a reason the men's uniform was cut so damn short, he thinks dryly.

"Sire, you- oof," Hephaestion is knocked back down, feeling mortified as Alexander nudges his knees apart and his eyes fill with silent grief. Touching his eyes with the back of his palm, Hephaestion rolls his head back to hide his burning face.

On the quiet, Hephaestion knows he's being somewhat of a girl about the whole thing. Oh the contradictions of it all. In the end, Alexander is King of Kings, and can treat him however he wants and he has to shut up and take it. Though he had hoped. .

His thoughts collide painfully as Alexander none to gently enters him and his spit wasn't enough to stop the pain. Before he can rudely voice this- yell it, kick him hard is becoming very tempting- Alexander covers his mouth with a hand. This does not help matters. Already Hephaestion is panting like a horse that's run a mile, in quick short gasps from pain and familiar pleasure, and it feels hot and moist as Alexander continues to block his mouth and he wants to bite his palm and lick his fingers and beg him to stop. This must reflect in his eyes, because it makes Alexander growl in refusal, and even Hephaestion's own body is a traitor because his back arches and the leather presses like a blunt knife on his ribs as he gasps for fresh air desperately against those hard fingers.

It doesn't take long, Hephaestion guessing that he's been whoring all day and even men have their limits. As Alexander breaths sharply against his collar bone, the Macedonian can feel his King's stomach muscles tighten like a bow being stretched and they stay taunt even as he comes, hot and sticky down his thighs.

Finally Hephaestion rips the hand away, breathing, coughing, like his life depends on it. He groans despairingly with suppressed desire, knowing his morals of being used like a toy have hopped clean out the door. He doesn't care anymore, Alexander can do whatever he wants as long as he _touches _him. Alexander smirks like the cat's whose got the cream, bowing his head and licking teasingly up Hephaestion's thighs, nipping at the strong muscle.

A helpful grip pulls his upper body up off the bed, and Hephaestion feels the weight of Alexander straddling him, rubbing his hip bones up against him and he leans up to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Oh, you are so very good, eromenos. Very good," the words pull a frown from Hephaestion, something isn't quite right, but Alexander kisses him with his wine taint mouth and he momentarily forgets.

Then Alexander's hot weight is removed and the sudden nakedness of not having someone there makes Hephaestion stumble.

And he's been played like a desk of cards, because suddenly he's out of the tent and into the cold night and none too happy with himself.

* * *

Loyally, the army flocks like sheep as their King mounts the make shift podium and they eagerly await his decision. His answer shocks the men into swallowing their tongues. Alexander will go on, and those who don't come with him will be branded as cowards for turning tail on their country. He expects his men to say _something_ but all he gets is the cry of a vulture from far away. Everyone is too blown away to say anything.

It seems that Alexander has had no random bursts of insight from his drunken stupor last night, Hephaestion wagers dryly, and seeing that his audience has no complaints, Alexander vanishes back into his tent without another word.

Taking this as a sign, the rest of the men go about their daily duties, hardly discussing the event. Each is firm in their mind that they'll go no further.

Hephaestion is stopped from going into Alexander's tent, being told nobody is allowed entry.

"Denying me too. Hardly surprising," Hephaestion doesn't recognise the guard, and is threatened again to go away. So he does.

* * *

On the second day of Alexander's stubborn lent, many of the Macedonians are wailing outside his tent.

"Hera damn you, _eat," _Hephaestion swears furiously, waving the apple slice about Alexander's mouth and just short of crying in frustration. "Do you hear those men outside, Alexander?" the Macedonian demands, throwing the apple part down for later as the fruit is rare enough to come by in these lands and he doesn't see the point to waste it on the childish King. "They want you to come to your senses and at least start _talking_ to them again. They love you, Alexander, they are aware you have given them so much, but their morale has reached zero. I _know _they have rebelled, but you cannot fight fire with fire. Nor can you refuse to eat and drink. A line has to be drawn."

"Oh Hephaestion, you are far too good to me," Alexander smiles benignly, tracing the man's apple stained lips with a finger. Hephaestion grabs the wondering hand.

"I. Know," he says very deliberately, nearly growling his words out. "I do wonder why I indulge you too."

"Because you- no. . I suppose we have grown out of that old game," Alexander sighs deeply. He shots Hephaestion a sharp glance. "Even if I could, I hardly remember three nights ago," the confession drags a quick gasp from Hephaestion and a heat of colour appears on his cheeks and he manages to stop himself from roaring _how can you not remember?! _"An apology, your forgiveness- I doubt you would give it anyway. I have done something terrible to you. . "

The air is punched out of Hephaestion, and he's not particularly humbled by the grunted words but he does know his place. "Forget it, Sire," he lowers his eyes to the bed sheets. "I fear that I am just overreacting. It is your place to judge and act, not mine after all. You can do with me as you please."

Alexander looks troubled by his words, but doesn't speak up.

Hepahestion sighs at the frown lines that appear on Alexander's face and reaches across to smooth them out. He knows why his King did it. He'd just lost control over his loyal men of eight years. Something that would have very unwontedly stamped all over his ego. Ergo, he needed something to control again. Who else by his childhood friend. The audience was there to prove openly to his men Alexander wasn't about to back down.

"Will you eat now?" Hepaehestion brings the conversation back to safer ground. Alexander turns miserably away from the offered food.

"I have no appetite."

Not as put out as before, Hephaestion curls up next to Alexander and decides to finish the apple himself. Very carefully he asks, "Do you think it possible you might be in the wrong, Alexander?" at first he thinks he's spoken it in his head, for Alexander doesn't answer at first. His hands are laced over his chest and he stares up at the canopy of the tent.

"So even my loyal Hephaestion agrees with this mutiny?"

He almost chokes an apology out, but then catches Alexander's wry smile. "You have the power to direct your men to the ends of the earth, but that does not mean they will follow you, Alexander," the Macedonian says solemnly. His mouth twists at that.

"I doubt I can even face my men now."

"That's ridiculous. Come," bounding off the bed, Hephaestion stands before his King and puts the devoured apple core between Alexander's teeth. Bemused, Alexander obediently waits for an explanation. "That will keep you from spouting off even more of this rubbish," Alexander makes a noise like a grunt of disagreement. "And it will also bring back your desire for food," and as he speaks, Alexander's stomach growls eagerly. The King doesn't meet Haphaestion smug eyed look.

He takes the apple back, running his tongue over where Alexander's mouth had been before tossing it aside. "Stay put," he orders, taking up a sharpened blade from the portable dresser by the far tent flap. Hephaestion cleans Alexander's face of any stubble, and then fisting his golden hair he cuts it back into it preferred style, just touching the nape of his neck. He's always hated it when it starts to grow any longer than necessary.

"There. Looking better already," Hephaestion smiles at his handiwork. "Get out of those rags you have been lying in for days while I find something more fitting for a Macedonian King," Alexander raises his eyebrows at the very deliberate statement. Hepahestion catches his eye as he kneels before his bed to root through the chest stuffed full of clothes. "You know I am a strong supporter in your Persianisation," he quickly assures him, himself being the first to prostrate in his ceremony all those months ago. He was very much for it, enjoying Alexander's more modern views on life, thinking it wonderful to merge the two races together. "But you are facing an army already sore from being dragged around for eight years. You know they do not think very highly of you adopting Persian culture," and as he spoke, Heaphaestion dumped an arm full of Persians silks onto the flood. They felt divine to the touch, yet his hard Macedonian skin repealed from the slippery material like it was a live snake. "So if you face them as the King of Kings, of course it will end badly."

At last he held up his prize. A simple Macedon tunic, then pointed to his bronze armour in the corner. "Put these on."

Resigning himself, Alexander made the change while Hepahestion brought the gleaming armour over. It was woven with patterns only found on the most priceless of vases, and the chest plate was covers with a gorgons head, teeth stretched in a growl.

"And what do you propose I do once I step out there?" Alexander wants to know.

"Get your soothsayer here. An auger. Let's leave this in the hands of the gods."

* * *

Predictably, the signs were bad. The auger spotted a murder of crowd perched on a rock just outside the camp, beaks pointing across the Beas. He babbled to Alexander that if he tried to set sail across the waters, he would surely die.

The white cow that was sacrifice to the gods ended disastrously. As salsa was sprinkled over the cow's head, and Alexander muttered his prayer, the blow that was struck at the animals neck failed to stun her. As the blade came up, she reared and a deep gash appeared in her chest. Alexander was lucky not to have been ploughed down as she ran away.

It was safe to say the gods were not looking down in favour of them moving on, much to the Macedonian's relief.

Admitting defeat, Alexander soon announced they would be going back to Babylon. The words were music to their ears.

So they swung round and started the long trek back to the sweetest word they'd ever uttered-home.

* * *

-**fin**


End file.
